


and you swear you can feel honey on your hands

by sleepyvan



Category: The Creatures (Youtube RPF)
Genre: M/M, a lot of (secretly requited) pining, sort of experimental format
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-18
Updated: 2015-08-18
Packaged: 2018-04-15 09:30:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4601694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleepyvan/pseuds/sleepyvan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>the office is a confessional, and you pretend that he isn’t your sin to carry. you miss him when he isn’t there and you hate him when he is. this love is ruining you, romeo.</p>
            </blockquote>





	and you swear you can feel honey on your hands

**Author's Note:**

> Ok. I usually don't post these, but whenever I get into a new ship, I kind of map out what the dynamic is. I use the second person perspective (you) and bullet points to tell a (usually) linear story. Apologies if you don't dig it, and I promise an actual story will be up soon. Also, this is from James' perspective.  
> Enjoy. Please let me know if you enjoy this.

  * You’re 15, and a boy smiles at you like you light the goddamn sky on fire every morning. You hold your own hands at night, wondering if his is sweaty like yours. He turns his head when you lean in, and you are caged by your basement. The couch is a straightjacket. He leaves just after midnight, and you hold your hands close to your heart, tangled together. You cry into your blankets for weeks after and when your mom asks why, you pretend it's about Kendra in Spanish. 

  * The first thing you notice about Aleksandr Marchant is that horrible, horrible hair, sweeping above his eyebrows and skimming the top of his neck, hidden by that ratty fucking beanie. You open your mouth to talk shit and call him a dick, you always do, but something is jammed between your teeth. Eddie calls his name and he turns his head, smiling, and maybe that’s what's caught between your molars. You look away. 

  * You brush shoulders when you pass by each other. you don’t read into it, because it's all so new and you can't look him in the eye for too long. You ignore the heat of his eyes on your back and close your office door behind you. 
  * He remembers your Starbucks order. You don’t realize it until you look up from your phone and the woman behind you is hiding a smirk from behind her phone and he’s holding a venti caramel frappucino in front of your nose, ALEKS scribbled underneath the condensation. He looks proud of himself. You take it with gentle fingers and don’t look at him too long in fear of your heart collapsing between your ribs. 
  * He cuts his hair short and you want to run your fingers through it. He looks tough, and you giggle when Jordan calls him a “stud." He flips him off and shifts closer to you. You’re the quarterback’s girlfriend, and he’s just pulled a Hail Mary. You hope no one can see the blush creeping up your neck. 
  * His tattoos are swirling up his arm, and your mouth stops working when he wears those fucking stupid tank tops. He’s noticed, he’s eyeing you a little more, he's standing a little too close. Your hair is growing out, and you run your hand through your curls. You pretend you don’t see him trace the path your hand takes. You pretend you don't see him swallow hard. 
  * You share a house with him. You hear him through the walls. You wonder if he can hear you too. 
  * The streets are quiet when you walk home from another midnight excursion to 7/11, Twix bars tucked in your pockets. The street lamps play games with the shadows on his face, twisting it. His hands are bunched in his pockets, and his rings glint in the fluorescents. He keeps looking at you like he wants to say something. You walk home in silence. 
  * The office is a confessional, and you pretend that he isn’t your sin to carry. You miss him when he isn’t there and you hate him when he is. This love is ruining you, Romeo. 
  * His nerves are yours to play like a piano. You push until he snaps at you like a cornered animal, hackles raised. He picks his insults until you’re both growling like wild dogs, ready to tussle on the ground. You love the game of it, and you swear he loves it too, waiting to bite at every word. When the days go too long, and you've been looking at each other's backs a little too long and a little too heavily, you push any button that’s available to you. You swear you see him smiling before he calls you a "fucking jerk, dude." You take it. 
  * He says your name like it’s something he needs to scrub off his tongue. You say his like it’s poison behind your teeth. 
  * (Later, when it's late and you're both tucked into a corner booth at Denny's, thighs brushing, you hear him sigh it under his breath. You bump shoulders with him and whisper "Aleksandr" like a inside joke. The waitress thinks he's smiling that wide at her.) 
  * The first kiss isn’t supposed to be tender. You’re supposed to leave the office and he’s supposed to be walking you out, hands bunched in his pockets again. You catch him looking at you like you're a fucking masterpiece, and it looks familiar. He grabs you by the hoodie and pushes you against a wall, and you hold the sides of his face like he’s holding you together. He bites your bottom lip and you moan into his mouth. There are too many words to say, and you don’t say any of them. He sags against you and you grab him until he's sturdy, forgetting how to let go. His fingers are in your hair, drawing lazy circles. It hasn't felt right for a while, until now. 
  * There’s a venti caramel frappucino sitting on your desk when you get in the next day, and when Joe peers in, asking where it’s from, you say you don’t know. The condensation is leaving prints on your computer and the ALEKS is sticking to your fingertips. 
  * You love him. Your 15 year old self is trembling. 
  * You call him babe, once, in the middle of the night, parked next to him on the couch. there's some dumb show on, flashing colours across his face. he looks at you with some kind of wonder before leaning in to your chest a little more. it hasn’t occurred to you that maybe he wanted this as much as you did. 
  * You hold his hand and it’s just as sweaty as yours. You smile.




End file.
